Inheritance
by wren3
Summary: Following Margaret Laurence's Manawaka cycle. PG-13 for mature themes


Well, this is an idea that struck quite suddenly, and I had to get it down. 

Usual disclaimers apply. 

Chapter 1: What grace has given me 

Manawaka, Manitoba. I feel the warm summer sun on my shoulders and try to keep my hair - 

long, think and dark- away from my face as I walk along. It's so strange, being here. Why does 

the ground of this little prairie town-for so it will remain, however much it changes and grows-feel so solid under my feet? I'm not the one deeply rooted here. My parents are. And even they.. Well, they found that they wanted no part of this place. This place wanted no part of them. 

And why is it that everything here is so familiar, though I've never lived here, only visited precisely three times, in fact? 

I don't think I can ever answer that. All I really need to know is that I feel at peace here. Of course, I also know that in a matter of hours I'll be getting on a train heading east, far away, because after all this trip, this pilgrimage, was always meant to be just that. It was always meant to be for a short while. And also, for reasons both in my control and beyond my control, my future now doesn't lie here. Fate's-or God's, whichever- sense of humour. Wonder if all of them back there will be killing the fatted calf for me? Oh shit, but it's not funny, not funny. I have to go back because there's a small person depending on me to do so. I still can't quite believe it, that huge gap between the lost and confused kid who came out here a year ago and the person I am now. I still can't quite believe how much power two words have. My daughter. 

The weight of her in my arms centres me. She sleeps now, having eaten and been changed. Ready for the next leg of our journey. The long bus ride to Winnipeg. I hurry back to the bus station, not wanting to miss the connection, and also knowing that there's only so much sentiment a person can take in a day. 

On the bus, and then, in the city, we switch to the train. Lily fusses somewhat, but mostly sleeps. Leaving me with my thoughts.The voices, memories from this past year. saying goodbye to my family, my out west family, how painful it was for so many reasons. I hear my cousin's voice, so full of anguish, and I hurt with her.

_How can I give this child life? How can I kill it? I don't know what to do. The only thing.. I could not look at..and see him. Every day for the rest of my life. I can not do that. I cannot. _

And then my own voice 

_I'll do it. I'll raise him, or her.._

Then saying goodbye, again, so much pain.. 

But there's no other choice. With the both of us gone, they'll get a fresh start. And us too. That's what I promise for you, little girl. A fresh start, so you won't ever ever know what violence brought you here. So you can every opportunity, every advantage you deserve. 

And then I think This is insane, dragging a one month old baby all this way. This is insane, even for a moment to trust that I can protect her, that I'm the best person to look after her. That when I was making a huge mistake, for me and most especially for her. The voice in my head is insidious. I feel ill. 

Oh that's great, well, you're too late now, aren't you? So impulsive, you didn't even bother to really think before you signed all those papers, did you? 

The train finally pulls into Toronto. Luckily, I'm able to find a staff person - a middle aged man, balding, with a bit of a paunch, and very polite, to help me carry everything - not that we have much, just that with Lily as well, it would have been impossible for me to manage. I thank him before he leaves us at Arrivals. I scan the crowd, and see the familiar figure, tall, and, now I must admit, exuding strength. She calls my name, and I turn toward her. I smile 

She smiles back. 

The warmth there, acceptance, her support when I wrote and explained what I was going to do, is reassuring, so reassuring that I almost find my composure slipping. I feel the tears running down my cheeks.

"Hi Ma. There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Lily Gunn Tonnerre." 

I see that she's crying too. 

"Oh Pique, honey..she's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She sure is." 

I give the small bundle to her, and my mother holds her close. 

"Well, hello there," she says after a long moment, " And I'm your Grandma Morag." 

And then, she opens her other arm to me, and I go to her. The three of us are there for a good long while, without moving, all the noise and people seeming to fade away. And in my mother's embrace I finally feel like just maybe there's a chance. In her arms, I'm reminded of something that I of all people should know. Not all decisions are made by logic, with the head. Some choices come from deep within, from the gut. From the heart. And thank heaven above and all the saints in Beulahland - there's an expression for you- that this is so. 

  
  



End file.
